Silent Planet
by star wars for Jesus
Summary: Marooned in the Outer Rim, Anakin Skywalker and his master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, find themselves on mysterious planet...


Purple, huh? He'd never laid eyes on anything like it, expected he never would in the future, either. Forever the unknown planet, glowing like a polished amethyst orb in their viewscreen, was condemned to remain unique, drifting alone adjacent to its own star—and for eternity remind Anakin Skywalker of himself.

Figured he'd have so much in common with a wayward world, though. After all, his surname suggested just that: bound to things in the heavens, those free, wondering bodies, rather what lie beneath. Driven to not only see the stars, but know them; pressed to explore every fabric of the universe before he died, and yet never master the raging torrent within himself. Held captive to cruel irony, one the likes of which must've been born of a demented mind.

"This'll have to do for now, I'm afraid," came a voice from the chair beside his. "We've hardly any fuel left, and the navi-computer isn't revealing any other star systems in the area—if there are any."

Anakin swiveled his chair slightly, examining the man next to him with a mixture of affection and grudging admiration. For seven years now, this individual had been his master and friend, his mentor and father figure, and he'd become more than a little attached to him. In fact, the relationship with his master was somewhat of an unexplored territory for Anakin: as a product some sort of arcane—and apparently virgin—conception, he'd never really _had_ any kind of father. Ever. So when first Qui-Gon—and now Obi-Wan—had taken him under his wing, he had been floored by the scale of accompanying emotions and feelings a respectable male role-model began to paint into his existence.

Obi-Wan must've noticed his gaze, started considering him quietly with his pair of clear blue eyes. "Yes?"

"It's just…" He leaned closer to the viewscreen, glowering out at the inscrutable purple orb beyond. "This planet bothers me, Master. Like, really _gets me_." He shrugged. "I'm not sure what is, but I already have a bad feeling about this place. "

His master smiled thinly under his short beard. "Well, I suppose it's nice to know I'm not alone in that 'bad feeling'. I've been sensing certain things around this world, feelings I wouldn't deign to find the source of. It's as if…this may only be a poor poetic musing, but it feels…silent."

"Does this planet have a name, Master?"

A frown knit Obi-Wan's copper brow together. "If the navi-computer is anything to go by—and it usually is—then what we are dealing with is a nameless planet. No history, no population, no records. Only a location."

"A nameless, faceless world," Anakin intoned, artfully straight-faced. "Soulless. Without a mark for itself in history—"

"Anakin, you're not focusing."

He dipped his head, fighting hard not send his mentor an impish grin. Obi-Wan hated those, loathed them with frigid impunity. Maybe—just maybe—with the same level of revulsion Anakin held for his rambling lectures, if not more. "Yes, Master. Sorry, Master."

For a moment, Obi-Wan looked as if he were about to launch into the importance of focus—how all Jedi should have it, how it never failed to save your sorry butt—but then held back. Instead, he focused on angling the controls forward, beginning their descent toward Planet Purple. It took an agonizingly long time, though; with his jerky, over-wary movements, they were more wafting into the world's atmosphere, stopping and starting with a vexing frequency. If they hadn't reached the surface when they did, settling against the ground like a prim school girl…well, he might've just wrestled the controls away from his master and saved them all a shipload of grief.

As the whine of the landing ramp groaned beneath, Anakin descried the world outside the viewscreen. Nothing much, if you weren't counting the dirt. There was lots of that, it seemed; every surface, including the prow of their vessel peeking just into his vision, was blanketed in the jet-black stuff, a swathing of ashes under a lavender sky. A few choked fern-fronds pushed out of the ebony apocalypse, sure, twisting feebly toward the weak sunlight like an infant groping for a finger to grasp—but that was all. No other plants, no tiny animals sending plumes of burnt soil into the air they scurried along, no streams inching by in a sensuous arm.

The Purple planet was dead.

"Unbelievable," remarked Obi-Wan, shrugging into a heavy traveling cloak. He squinted at a read-out scrolling down a comp screen. "The scanners claim the planet is capable of supporting life, yet there isn't any notable flora to maintain any sort of breathable atmosphere. Unless there's some other source of oxygen we're not aware, such as subterranean forest or an algae-rich ocean, of course."

Anakin stared grimly at the blackened wasteland ahead. "If there wasn't any oxygen in the air, then why is everything burnt?"

Obi-Wan grimaced. "You're right, padawan. Good call." He tossed Anakin a winnowing look, then added, "I'd like to have a look around, just to be certain there aren't any fuel-stations lingering nearby. You stay here and monitor the ship while I'm gone—and that means _staying in the ship_, Anakin. Not twisting my words and trotting head-long into danger, like you did last time. Honestly, I'm quite frankly surprised I didn't end up hauling nothing but your bones out of that beetle pit!"

Ah, the beetles. Nasty, insatiable things, the lot of them, and even the faintest whisper of memory depicting their wickedly sharp pinschers made his skin crawl. Or, at least, dance with fire as he imagined the damage those death-bugs would've caused his flesh if they'd gotten hold of it. "You've managed to bring that up five times since, Master."

The young Jedi snorted derisively. "How good of you to count, padawan. What a comfort to know not _all_ of my teachings go unheeded."

"At least _I_ don't repeat myself," Anakin muttered into his chest.

For reasons totally addling to Anakin's sixteen-year-old mind, Obi-Wan ignored his insolent comment and fixed him a stern look. "_Stay. In. The. Ship." _

A burst of childish delight bloomed in Anakin's chest, the corners of his lips quirking upward as he settled himself back in his seat. Stay in the ship, right? Fine by him. As long as his orders weren't _don't move the ship_, he could make do with this situation, and maybe even avoid getting caught. Or keep their vessel in one nice, flawless piece. "Yes, master."

Under his lowered brow, Kenobi's eyes were two flinty, azure points of light. "And don't touch anything that isn't necessary. Trust me: I'll notice if you have."

"I wouldn't expect anything less, master."

"I know."

And with that, Obi-Wan Kenobi disappeared down the landing ramp, swallowed by the endless tracks of scorched earth stretching to the horizon.

Reclining in his chair, knotting his fingers behind his head, Anakin counted off the minutes. One wouldn't be hardly enough time for the sharp-witted Jedi to be out of hearing range. Neither was two, or even five. Glancing at the chrono cradled in his lap, he estimated he may have to bide his time for a half-hour—that is, if Obi-Wan weren't already on his way back by then. That would be problematic…and interesting. He'd only have to trust that his mentor would continue plodding on, that he wouldn't simply up and quit after five miles of void.

Finding his reflection in viewscreen, Anakin scowled. This mission could pretty well be described in much the same way: void. Useless. Empty. Even as they'd been departing the hangar, their vessel slipping toward the cold embrace of vacuum, Obi-Wan hadn't once given him a straight answer; in fact, he'd merely said they were being called away from their current assignment for "something more urgent". What that could possibly be, Anakin wouldn't dare hazard a guess. But to be of enough import to draw them away from their assignment on Bakura…his only inkling was that this thing had to be paramount, and aggravatingly case-sensitive.

Anakin ripped his attention away from his reflection, turned it on his chrono. Then he grimaced. Fifteen minutes left, draining by as slowly as the will from a obstinate bantha. Less time for Anakin's self-imposed wait; more that Obi-Wan could be using to turn around and give it up—at least, if he hadn't already. So if he wanted to explore, if he wished to take in all the burnt-out husk of planet had to offer, he'd better be off _now_.

Blowing out a breath, Anakin leaned further back in his chair.


End file.
